


Here, of all places

by LadyGloucester



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-08 05:57:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12248361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGloucester/pseuds/LadyGloucester
Summary: “Ye come here a lot?”An arched eyebrow and a slightly sardonic smile.“That line ever works for you?”A low, rich cackle.“I’m just a lad in a bar…”“…Claire.”“Claire. Jamie.”





	1. One night stand

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ…”

Her back was sore, but only with a fraction of the pain her head was pounding with. The light of the newborn day trespassed the windows uninvited, piercing her eyelids and turning her sight from oblivious black to annoying red. Underneath her, the warmness of a blanket kept her naked body from freezing on the floor. Clearly not the best bed to avoid spending the rest of the day with a battered spine. Her right hand had crept all the way up to her eyes, scrubbing them from the much needed sleep that still harassed them. But as reality settled back in her bones, a weird feeling began to conquer the rest of her body. Something glossy, extremely soft lay under her left hand, resting in turn on top of her belly and around her hips. Tentatively, she opened one amber eye, squinting under the acute brightness.

“Bloody hell…”

A gorgeous mass of coppery curls attached to an even more gorgeous naked body slept pleasantly, his breath raising goosebumps on the skin around her navel. Slowly, she began the audacious task of extricating herself from that tangle of limbs, skin and plaited wool that had become her bed for the night. After a couple of attempts, the efforts proved themselves useless. There was no way to stand up without that head thumping against the floor. So she opted for the quickest, more embarrassing but also most effective determination.

_Rip off the bandaid, Beauchamp._

With a swift impulse, Claire stood up and pulled the blanket along with her, trying to cover up her nakedness. Inevitably, a loud thud and a curse followed as well, a hoarse, raspy voice revealing itself.

“A Dhia…”

“Sorry…” She apologized half-heartedly covering up in the blanket and trying not to stare at the magnificent body that was awakening in front of her. Cautiously, she positioned herself behind the couch. “I just… I really need to go to work, so…“

The redheaded man laid on his back, rubbing his face, and sighed before looking at her. His deep blue eyes were reddened as he began to stand up, looking for his clothes.

“I’m gonna take a shower and, well, since you’ll be gone already, just… Well, thanks for last night…”

_Fuck._

“Jamie,” he informed her while getting into his jeans and buttoning them up.

“Jamie, of course. Well, have a nice day.“

_Have a nice day? Seriously?_

“Ye don’t want to—”

“No, no, I think we, well, just… No. Bye!“

A smirk from his generous lips escorted her upstairs, as she closed the bathroom door behind her and leaned against it huffing. Wild hair, black eyeliner smeared, bruised lips and… _Jesus, is that a hickey?_ The image the mirror returned to her instantly flashed in the most shameless fashion all the indulgences last night had provided.

 

_Whiskey. In shots and in the depths of his mouth. Two inquisitive hands sailing the waves of her curves. The most limpid, clear blue eyes, scrutinizing her pleasure. His curls between her legs. His lips exploring the secrets of her flesh. His tongue tasting her navel. His desire matching hers, entering her body and jolting every cell in it._

_“Ye come here a lot?”_

_An arched eyebrow and a slightly sardonic smile._

_“That line ever works for you?”_

_A low, rich cackle._

_“I’m just a lad in a bar…”_

_“…Claire.”_

_“Claire. Jamie.”_

_The electricity of his handshake, lingering for an extra second more than necessary. His warmth, traveling from his skin into hers. His gaze, reading her like a book from under those half blonde, half coppery eyelashes. The sleekness of his curls between her fingers, grabbing him towards her hungry lips, devouring his without mercy, moaning into his mouth._

 

Claire shook her head and darted to the shower. First day, new job and about to be late. The water was still cold when she stood under the stream, making her teeth clatter but also clearing her mind. Last night was too dim for her to remember it all, especially after the fourth shot. And there was no time to wobble about the details. Another one night stand. The first since she had arrived to Edinburgh. Probably not the last, but didn’t have to mean anything more than the others before.

With her locks dripping and no time to properly tend to them, she tucked them into a bun on top of her head, dressed with half her body still wet and run out of the bedroom. On the way to the front door, a quick look sideways revealed the emptiness of the living room, only her clothes scattered on the floor as witness of the previous events. A sigh of relief as she grabbed her mug of coffee for a much needed sip and a quiet bang when the door closed behind her ushered her out of her dead parents house.

Claire held the wheel tightly as she approached the entrance to the military facility. After showing her credentials at the gate, the soldier guarding it lifted the barrier and saluted her. She nodded, a bit intimidated by the treatment, and drove to the parking lot. Her friend Geillis had just parked and was gathering her stuff off the trunk of her car when Claire parked beside her.

“Bein’ late yer first day in a job is not the best way to make an impression, ye ken?” She teased walking in a fast pace that forced Claire to run up to her, cursing under her breath.

“You could just wait for a sec—”

“Oh my goodness. Tell me that’s not a hickey.” Geillis pulled the scarf that discreetly covered Claire’s neck, until she smacked her hand off and strategically repositioned it, blushing all the way to her hairline. “So ye did get laid last night, didn’t ye? I thought ye were giving me the cold shoulder.”

“What are you, fifteen? For Christ’s sake, Geillis.”

Her friend laughed wholeheartedly and patted her back.

“I’m not, but I actually thought you weren’t either,” she retorted pointing to her neck.

After showing their credentials again, they entered an ample bustling with activity on their way to the elevator. Geillis pushed the button and waited, tapping her heel with a Cheshire cat smile on her lips. The pilot light signaled the doors about to be opened, and both women walked up to them.

“And how was it?“

Claire sighed as the doors began to slide. “It was the best sex I’ve had in ages. And I can’t remember half of—.”

A lopsided grin, crowned by a disarrayed mass of red curls and two shattering blue eyes welcomed her sight, leaning against the back of the elevator, and she had to contain the urge of running in the opposite direction.

“Good morning, ladies. Comin’ up?”


	2. Chapter 2

A ding announced the doors closing again, and a firm hand with long fingers stopped their movement, opening them back.

She prayed for Earth to rip open and swallow her into its deepest core, erasing her into oblivion and disappearing that very moment. Spontaneous combustion. The rapture. Anything. His smirk and the way he looked at her from under his eyelashes wasn’t helping either. She gaped, as if trying to expel some kind of coherent thought, but no sound come out of her mouth, and shut it close.

Geillis had already got in and was staring at her, arching her perfectly plucked blonde eyebrows.

“Claire?” She asked puzzled. “Care to join us?“

Slowly, convinced she now knew how a condemned prisoner felt on his last steps towards the gallows, she entered the elevator and stood, with her back to the other two users, near the doors that slid back into place almost trapping her feet. Her blood was still deciding between flooding her limbs and prompting her to run or dancing under the skin of her face, blushing it beyond imagination. Thoughts ran wild through her mind. What were the odds? Well, of course this was going to happen. It was just the way the Universe had to tell her that every mistake or indiscretion she was willing to commit would inevitably lead to an embarrassing situation with guest starring flushing, cursing and running for dear life.

The doors opened again and Claire exited like the place smelled of brimstone, but her rush faded slightly when she realized she had no idea where she was. Geillis’ chuckle behind her and her hand on her arm acted as an anchor to reality, one she welcomed and hung to in order to avoid having to pledge temporal insanity.

“Locker rooms are this way,“ she pointed while he seemed to follow the same direction. Claire didn’t dare to look over her shoulder, knowing he would be there, staring at her with that overconfident smile dancing in the corners of his lips. A sudden wave of heat crashed against her.

_His lips… His lips discovering the lost freckles on her skin, revering each and every one of them before finding the next. Traveling from her neck to her earlobe, the tip of his tongue making her eyes roll to the back of her head before parting her own lips and conquering every inch of her mouth._

“Christ…” She panted, shaking her head from the flashes of last night’s hidden memories.

Claire hurried into the female changing room and collapsed on one of the benches, covering her face with both her hands and trying to steady her heartbeat. Geillis opened her cubby, grabbed her navy blue scrubs and sat by her side.

“What is it? Ye’re nervous for the first day? Breathe easy. ’Tis not…”

“It _was_ him,” she muttered still covering her face.

“What?”

“That man in the elevator. It was him. Last night. Best sex in ages?” Claire repeated until it dawned on Geillis, who stood and began to change.

“Ye’re tellin’ me ye slept with him— Really?” Doubt (and teasing) was clear in his voice, muffled under the clothes. Claire looked at her, sighing, and began to change her clothes as well.

“Really. I didn’t know…”

“How would you. Dinna martyr yerself, Beauchamp. If it’s any consolation, the whole base is trying to get in his pants since he got stationed here six weeks ago. At least ye’ve.“

“Oh, that’s consolation, yeah.”

Bitting her lip, Claire closed her locker with her bag and clothes inside and slipped into her lab coat. Well, the facility was a kilometric maze and if the odds were in her favor, she’d be able to avoid him and never cross paths with him. She reassured herself like this, breathing deeply and tightening her fists. No, this was her chance for a new life, one without the burdens of the past, a clean slate, and she was willing to make the most of it. Nodding with conviction, she turned to follow Geillis out of the changing room, with her stethoscope hanging around her neck.

But as Geillis held the door for her to pass, the one that guarded the entrance of the male locker room got opened by her worst —and best— nightmare. Sporting an army uniform, consisting of a camouflage pants, boots and a khaki t shirt, tighter than it should be legal, Jamie appeared with that crooked smiled that seemed permanently plastered on his face. Straight out of the shower, an errant drop dancing down his temple, his curls were damp and sleekly combed backwards in a more strict manner than the freedom they roamed with before.

Claire’s eyes darted immediately towards the elevator and Geillis tried to imprint a slightly faster pace to their walk, but his strides matched their efforts and they awkwardly stood in front of the same doors they had left just minutes before. Looking at him sideways and praying for him to stay quiet, Claire fidgeted with her stethoscope for what felt like eternity. She saw him smile knowingly and opened his mouth a couple of times, as if he was deciding what to say, before closing it back silently and smiling again.

Geillis’ hand grabbing her arm snapped her out of her self pitying haze.

“We’ll be taking the stairs,“ Geillis said questioningly, arching an eyebrow an waiting for Claire’s nod, one that came swiftly and set them both on their way, away from the elevator. The moment they arrived to the medical floor, she leaned against the wall and sighed.

“This is going to be a problem.“

Helwater was a military facility located in the outskirts of Edinburgh. It was designed both as an intelligence and a recovery center for soldiers who had been injured in the line of duty and were stabilized, but not healthy enough to return to their homes or back in service. Geillis had been working there for the past four years, and when Claire called her two months ago, she didn’t waste a second before recommending her to her superiors and granting her an interview that turned out rather successfully. So she had packed her bags, or at least as much as she could, and run away from Oxford into the loving arms of Scotland.

Waiting by the nurse station was Dr. Joe Abernathy, the medical chief of the facility and the one that had decided to hire Claire in that moment of need. There was something about his warmness, despite being in the military, that had forced Claire to spill her guts and tell him why the sudden change of career path. And keen of sincerity as he was, he had opened this new opportunity for her to make the most of it.

“Dr. Beauchamp, good to see you,“ he welcomed her shaking her hand vigorously and eliciting a smile from her.

“Thank you again, Dr. Abernathy, for this opportunity. I hope I’ll be able to catch up—“

“Nonsense. I _know_ you will. Let me give you the tour and put you up to speed.”

Geillis left them with a smile and an encouraging wink to resume her own tasks, and Claire followed him diligently. Dr. Abernathy explained her the different methodologies and protocols in place, and escorted her around the premises showing her where everything was, from the wing where most seriously injured patients were lodged, to the different storage rooms where she could find any medical supply she needed.

“Good morning, soldier,” she said to one of the patients that had arrived earlier that week. Reading his chart, he had been wounded during a drill and his left femur had broken in three different places. A nasty fracture that had been stabilized but needed a more detailed surgery for him to regain full use of the leg. “How’s pain today?”

“Bearable, doctor,” he answered wincing almost inadvertently.

“You don’t have to suffer for a second, soldier,” Claire stated as she looked at his analgesic drip, adjusting it. “We need you back in one piece and being in pain only will delay your recovery. So no unnecessary bravery here when you’ll be needing it in the future, you understand?”

Her tone made him square his shoulders and nod curtly.

“Yes, madame. Hurts like getting your balls crushed with hot pliers.”

“Much better,” she chuckled and increased the dosage. “Let me know if the pliers cool.”

Dr. Abernathy’s low, quiet laughter accompanied her steps out of the patient’s room and she smiled in return.

“They don’t need to be brave here and put up with the pain, especially if we can manage it easily,” she commented while updating the chart.

“Those kids are used to be brave no matter what. So it’s nice that you give them the chance to at least let their guard down for a few days.”

She nodded and left the chart in the station, before grabbing the next one.

The rest of the day passed by uneventful. Claire’s main focus was to absorb every detail about the way things were done, and Abernathy proved to be an excellent teacher, calm but pointed, watching her every decision like a hawk. Lunch consisted of a sandwich and a light soda going over the charts that had piled in the past few days, before getting acquainted with the rest of the patients. One hour before it was time to call it a day, Abernathy approached her with a file and sat next to her.

“This case is especial. This patient isn’t in the facility. He’s currently being transferred here from Irak, but we’re in constant communication with the team that’s extracting him and we’ve developed a plan. Since you’re to be his main physician the minute he lands here, you’re responsible for his course of treatment. Take a look to see if you agree with what we’ve decided so far and if so, you have to go and report to Captain Fraser. He’s the our military liaison in this case.”

“Sure, let me see.”

Claire took the file and went through the notes. Her stomach clenched when she read the first evaluation of his wounds. Clearly it was going to be one of the most challenging cases she’d been confronted with, but reading throughout the course of treatment, she only disagreed with one of options.

“Actually I think we could manage to obtain a skin graph from a donor. They have a much better chance of healing properly than synthetic, but otherwise I think we’re good to go.”

“Good. Change it and I’ll call the captain to let him know you’re coming.”

She scribbled her note quickly, closed the file and followed her boss indications to get to the office. After a long walk, two flights of stairs and showing her ID twice, she managed to enter the intelligence commanding officers wing. Quiet as it was, she suddenly felt intimidated by the space. Sparkling clean, every cedar door had a golden nameplate indicating who was the current inhabitant of each study, and when she finally reached her destination, she inhaled deeply and knocked firmly on the door.

“Come in,” a muffled voice invited.

The knob felt cold against her palm, turning it to grant access, but when her eyes roamed the room and finally settled on the occupant of the mahogany desk, Claire felt her blood boiling and freezing at the same time.

 

_Fuck._


	3. Chapter 3

_Fuck._

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Again, that feeling of fight or flight compelled her whole body to make a decision. Claire could stay and face the biggest embarrassment she could think of, or turn on her heels and run away until the ocean opened its arms in front of her. And then, some swimming all the way to Canada. For a second she was about to fall into a fit of hysterical laughter, the same that had gripped her the first time she made an error as a surgical intern, nicking an artery and splashing her sneakers with three pints of blood. But back then she was only 25, and now she was… Older, at least, if not wiser. So she squared her shoulders and forced her face into a neutral mask of indifference.

_Jesus, I suck at charades._

Luckily for her, her voice came out much firmer than she felt.

“Captain Fraser, I presume. Dr. Abernathy sends me to inform you of Lt. Grey’s treatment.”

There it was. The knowing smile disappeared and was quickly replaced by a serious look of concern. He extended his hand, silently asking for the file she held as a life jacket. Claire controlled his nerves that very moment, thanking the gods above and below for the opportunity to stick to a professional discourse. He opened the folder and began to read, intently, until his brow furrowed and his eyes focused back on her.

“Why the human donor skin graph? Ye ken here we’ve the best technology regarding synthetic graphs,” he inquired leaning back on his chair.

“I know, sir.” _Christ_. “But since Lt. Grey is O+, I think finding a match will be easier. If you agree with this course of treatment I’ll personally let the NHS we’re looking for this type of donor.”

“Walk me through it, doctor Beauchamp.”

Claire breathed slowly and held her hands behind her back, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the strap of cloth of her lab coat.

“Synthetic skin graphs have been proven to provide a better result in case of rejection, but healing is more difficult and the aesthetics of the graph once inserted in the body is not as suitable as it should. Besides, blood circulation is increased when the graph comes from a human donor and, in the long run and if properly done, the outcome is more positive.”

“Aesthetics, you said?“ He raised an eyebrow and stare intently at her

“Yes, sir. From the injuries this patient sustains, I truly believe aesthetics should be one of our main concerns. Psychological recovery must be as effective as the physical one. And that’s harder if you look at your body and don’t recognize part of it.”

A loaded silence expanded between them, his eyes darting from the chart to the unexpectedly confident stance of the woman in front of him. Pursing his lips, the captain nodded once and offered the file back to Claire.

“Couldn’t agree more with yer assessment. I ken Lt. Grey will be in the best hands.”

She took the file from his hand and wrapped her arms around it once again. Not knowing if she had to be dismissed or she could just walk away on her own, she stood there awkwardly, unknowingly delighting in the details. The elegantly polished mahogany wood that conformed the desk, its soft and round lines, the tidiness of every object that settled on top of it. But her eyes roamed inescapably towards the bookcase filled with more books than it was able to contain. From the distance she could only decipher the ones with the largest letters on the spine, and names such as Homer, Seneca or Herodotus shined in golden scribbles.

“D’ye care if I walk you out? It’s time already.”

His voice startled her and Claire realized that, while she was trying to get to know him a little better by the items that surrounded his daily routines, he had already organized his desk and was standing up, pushing the chair towards it in order to leave everything perfectly set up. Her bewildered silence didn’t stop him from opening the door for her and wait by the threshold, his dauntless smile back on his lips.

_No, no lips. NO LIPS._

Claire cleared her throat and nodded. She realized then that she’d probably need to file that folder, but as if he read her mind, he took it from her hands and motioned her to leave the office before him. He closed the door and started to walk towards the locker rooms.

“Dinna fash. I’ll keep it and tomorrow ye’ll have it back on yer station.“

Claire was able to memorize each and every floor tile from his office to the personnel wing, her eyes never daring to climb up from her feet, scared of what she could discover in his gaze. Last night was still submerged in an alcohol gaze and she was really willing for it to stay that way. There was no need to remember the feeling of his arms wrapping her waist and pulling her impossibly closer to his body, or the firmness of his abdomen against her belly.

The corridor that led to the locker rooms opened before them, and as she readied herself to say goodbye in the quickest, lest rude way possible.

“Okay, so… This is me. Thanks for the walk. This is a bit of a maze for me.” Her words began to pick up the pace and she found herself mumbling. “I just wanted you to know I really hope this can be as professional as it gets, you know, I know, I mean, this isn’t usual and I’m sorry if I created an uncomfortable situation for any of us and, well, I just… I know, I’m sorry. I really like it here and I hope this,” she gestured back and forward between them, “isn’t a problem. You know.”

_If there’s a Nobel for oratory, Beauchamp, I think you just won it._

He quietly listened to her diatribe without losing that curve on the side of his mouth, and waited for her to regain her breath. Nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t heard a single word she had uttered, he placed one stray curl behind her ear and blinded her with the most juvenile smile she had ever seen in a grown up man. The delicate touch of his fingers on her skin leaving a blaze of fire below them and completely throwing her off.

“Can I buy ye a drink sometime?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, hope it's worth it!

Claire inhaled deeply while the door closed behind her, leaning against it and trapping her hands between it and her back. It still smelled the same way she remembered it. A mixture of old wood and roses. His father would always make sure there was a fresh dozen of them in the living room, by their wedding photograph. The image of them dancing to the beat of Tony Bennet, the verses running through her mind.

_Some day, when I'm awfully low,_

_When the world is cold,_

_I will feel a glow just thinking of you_

_And the way you look tonight._

She used to sit on the staircase, holding the balusters and staring at them wondering why they needed to do that every single Friday night, to the same song playing in the old turntable. The sound of her mother’s heels sliding on the crumbling pine floor, his father’s smile against her hair, his hand laying on the small of her back, her cheek resting on his shoulder. That was the most recurrent memory Claire had of them, and one that had been on the back of her mind since they passed away.

Moving to their house after so long was something she hadn’t come to terms yet. Part of her felt an intruder, an obnoxious uninvited guest that would break the living images of a past long foregone. But it also felt like an uncomfortable return home, one that hadn’t been so since she was barely a teenager. The floor creaked under her steps, carrying her to the couch and plopping on it. In front of her, last night’s evidences lied on the floor, a combination of underwear, clothes and blankets she’d have to deal with sooner rather than later.

Her eyes closed with exhaustion and the remnants of latent hungover she had kept at bay with a couple of Aspirins and tons of coffee. She leaned against the cushy sofa and rested her head, allowing herself to lose in the sensation of warmness.

 

_She stood there, her eyebrows almost meeting her hairline with absolute perplexity. He hadn’t listened to a single word she had said, and had the nerve to even touch her in the middle of the corridor, where anyone could see them. Nice, very nice to start a job and be known as the woman that banged Captain Hot— Fraser in her first day._

_“Did you listen to what I just said?” Her bafflement was such she needed to check if maybe he had just missed her words. But there, again, that bone melting smile and a carefree shrug._

_“Aye, I just thought it would be nice to have a drink.” He stepped closer and her cheeks blushed with rage. And unwilling excitement. “Last night was…”_

_“Last night wasn’t. Don’t say it,” she threatened pointing him with a finger and huffed in annoyance. “Really, you just didn’t listened to me at all!“_

_He raised his hands, meaning no harm._

_“All right, lass. Dinna fash about it. But if you ever change your mind,” he wiggled his eyebrows and started laughing wholeheartedly when Claire turned around and almost run into the female locker room._

 

The next week went by surprisingly quietly. Tending to the patients, getting familiarized with the protocols and getting ready for the arrival of Lt. John Grey filled her hours. Dr. Abernathy, or Joe, as he had insisted to be called right on her second day, revealed himself as a well full of useful knowledge, both medical and regarding any questions she could have about Helwater. He got her acquainted with some of the other doctors there. Willie Hertog was a younger physician, that being his first job. Specialized in general surgery, he was quite eager to learn from a trauma surgeon such as Claire, and they immediately became good partners. Geillis had more work load, being one of the main neurologists in Helwater, but always managed to sneak out and join them for lunch while going over any case she had she could use their input.

It didn’t take them much to realize a couple of drinks after work could be a nice way to put the pressure of their day behind, and they began to meet at one of the pubs, The Covenanter, to play darts and drink ale. It was the same pub where she had met Jamie that night, and whenever she crossed the threshold, her limbs tingled with the memory. Now she knew it was pretty much the place where all the facility met afterwork, owned as it was by a retired sergeant who had switched the kaki for the apron.

Claire fit into this new routine like a tired foot in a snug slipper. Being able to laugh with new —and old— friends was a welcome improvement from her past life and she threw herself carelessly into it. Slowly, she stopped looking over her shoulder from time to time, feeling like an invader in a foreign peaceful country. And besides her friends helping her adapt to a new home, casually encountering with certain redheaded captain here and there managed to elicit a smile almost daily. She was powerless to resist the way he stared at her, so boldly she couldn’t keep her cheeks from blushing every time. But since her negative to join him for drinks, he had maintained the most perfect professional willingness towards her. Salted by that crooked smile, of course.

That Friday morning, Geillis and Claire were leaving the female locker room to join Willie and begin their rounds, when Geillis grabbed their arms and forced them to stop, a conniving smile plastered in her face.

“I just know what ye need, Claire, to stop ye from pouting whenever Captain Hottie leaves yer sight.” Claire smacked her arm

“Jesus, is that what you’re calling him now?” She retorted restraining herself from elbowing her on the ribs and chastising herself silently for having already thought about him that way.

“They all do now,” Willie confirmed while setting his stethoscope around his neck.

“He would die of embarrassment if he heard us,” Geillis laughed. “But that’s no’ the point. We need to throw a party!!” Willie’s face lighted up and nodded excitedly despite Claire’s grimace.

“A party would be so cool,“ he assured and looked at the blonde. “We could invite a few selected people—“

“Where?” And seeing her eyes glinting, she shook her head and resumed her walk. “No way, Geillis, we’re not throwing a party at my place. What are you, fifteen?“

“Ye say that an awful lot these days, ye buzzkiller.” Both of them followed her and each grabbed one of her arms.

“Come on, Claire, it will be fun.”

“I don’t know how many catastrophes have begun with that same statement,” she pointed while pushing the elevator button.

“Just a few of us! Ten tops!“ Claire’s façade started to melt, fantasizing with the idea, and they pushed it further.

“I’ll get the drinks—” Willie stated.

“—And I’ll get the people,” Geillis finished.

Seeing no other routes of escape, Claire raised her hands and yielded.

“Ok, but I tell you now, I’m not cleaning afterwards,” she warned them while the elevator doors opened, while the two of them already began to conspire.

“Do ye think one keg will be enough?”

“Two, better safe than sorry. A party without ale isna a party at all.”

When Claire’s eyes stopped rolling and focused in front of her, Captain Fraser was already leaning against the wall of the elevator, his arms crossed over his broad chest, waiting for them to get in. Her cheeks blushed as she entered, muttering a polite good morning, while Willie and Geillis stared at them.

“Sorry, I just forgot, you know, Willie—”

“What?”

“Come,” she muttered with her teeth clenched and pulled from his arm away from the elevator. “See ye later, Claire.”

Once inside, the doors closed in front of Claire, purposefully keeping her back turned to him. Seconds slowed down to a tedious pace. She knew he’d be smiling. His lips were always slightly curved in the corners, good-humored. She braced herself as the floors marched by in the LED screen. _0, 1…_

“So ye need a keg for a party?” His voice startled her and she bit the inner side of her cheek, cursing under her breath.

“Ehm— Well, I don’t— It’s their idea.” _2… Come on…_

“Ye’re throwing a party. At yer place?”

“Yes, actually,” Claire admitted, turning to face him.

“Am I invited?“

There it was, that stupidly sexy smile, flashing in front of her and turning her knees to water. Did he know the effect he had on her? How that night together haunted her unexpectedly? In the middle of the day, while performing surgery, right before sleep… It wasn’t healthy. And now he was trying, not very subtly, to get invited to the party. She had already rejected him when he asked her out for drinks, and pretty blatantly so. But Claire realized there was something about him that irradiated hope. The kind of hope that has someone who always tries to look at the brighter side of things, who gives importance to the things that have it and relativizes those that don’t. His insistence came from that place, rather than the need for the chase most men she had met had. So she tried to look as nonchalant as she could before answering.

“Sure, if it’s up to Geillis she’ll invite half the base,” Claire said rather uncommittedly. His eyes glanced at her, piercing through the thoughtful layers of friendly indifference, introversion, privacy and professionalism, leaving her exposed, naked under his scrutiny. “I… I’ll text you the address,” she offered handing him her cellphone.

His deep blue eyes searched hers, slanted and utterly distracting. For a second he seemed to consider the situation, probably trying to decide if he was stepping on her toes. But the wavering smile her lips drew finally settled it for him. The tip of his fingers grazed her hand when he grabbed her phone and typed carefully his contact information.

“Dinna leave me hangin’.“


	5. Chapter 5

Claire stared at her sneakers, soaking in blood. The center of the universe had reduced itself to that precise instant and place, to her feet, standing in a slimy red pool, right after having killed a man on the table. The words still reverberated in her ears like the sound of a blade being sharpened.

“You have killed him. You’re responsible for his death and I will hold you accountable for this.”

 

* * *

 

When Claire left the elevator, she ran into mayhem. The otherwise quiet and peaceful surgical floor of Helwater was immersed in havoc. A whirlwind of blue and green scrubs fled around, not staying in the same place for more than a few seconds before running to the next one. Completely caught off guard, Claire stood there trying not to be in anyone’s way and at the same time, looking for Joe in the middle of that commotion. His voice suddenly emerged from the myriad of others, barking orders. He was standing in one of the trauma rooms, near a gurney occupied by a painfully young soldier he was examining. His eyes darted to her and a sigh of relief accompanied them.

“Claire! Where were you?“ He inquired before opening a surgical tray and beginning to place a central line in the soldier’s neck.

“What happened?”

“An explosion. One of the barracks in Edinburgh exploded not fifteen minutes ago and we’re taking in the majority of the wounded. Which is _an awful lot_. Don’t stay there staring. Get ready and run Trauma 5, we’re shorthanded for something like this.”

Claire’s instruction kicked in. This wasn’t different from any day in the ER where she had worked before, except for the magnitude. Car crashes could take a few people to the emergency room at the same time, but from the activity that boiled in the floor, this incident completely overpassed any accident. Stabilizing the patients became essential. Those who came in with a red badge attached to their gurney took priority, and Claire focused on the task of giving them a thread of life to hold on to. The wounds were terrible, worst than anything she had seen, and surprisingly, this helped her to distance herself from the situation, almost surreal in its carnage.

The rhythm was frenetic. She hadn’t finished patching one patient and the next one was already waiting outside the trauma room. Barely a few seconds to change her blood stained gloves and a new body, mangled and damaged, laid in front of her to save. Claire made an effort to ask their names to each and every soldier that came in, a smile and a firm but gentle tone impregnating her voice behind the mask. Some of them were too young to being experiencing that kind of pain, and a pinch in the back of her eyes stung whenever she heard their ages, read from the chart by the nurse.

The succession flew, one after the other, gashes, burns, fractures, concussions, an endless catalogue of each and every wound that a human being could sustain. After the third, Claire lost count of the patients and the hours. Her eyes, always focused on the task, her thoughts always one step ahead to be ready for anything and everything, her hands steady, trustworthy, executing every move with finesse and elegant precision.

For the thousandth time that day, Claire turned around to take off her gloves and replace them with new, sterile ones, but no gurney entered the room. Snapping out of her concentrated mist, her gaze searched for the nurse, that had begun to clean up the room.

“That was the last of them, doctor Beauchamp—”

“No, it was _not_!”

The resounding voice filled the precarious silence that had spread throughout the surgical floor, bringing along a new wave of commands and wails. In an instant, her room was again filled with the smell of blood and burned flesh. Laying on the gurney, a blonde young man cried through his clenched teeth. His hands hugged his abdomen, as if trying to hold on to the pieces and drops of life that were leaving him inexorably. Under his fingers Claire could sense the extensiveness of his wounds. They couldn’t lose not even a second.

“This is my brother, here.” That voice, again, filled her ears and tore her eyes from the patient. In the threshold, a military officer stood, his hands maroon with the dried fluids. “ _Save him_.”

She wasn’t one to be intimidated by orders like that one, but a shiver danced on her spine with an acute sense of warning.

“Let us work, then,” Claire answered coldly. With the corner of her eye, she saw him slowly retire and disappear. “What’s your name, soldier?”, she asked, wiping the young man’s face and placing the stickers on his chest to connect him to the monitors.

“Alex, I’m— I’m Alex. Christ, this hurts,“ he mumbled.

“I know, Alex. We’re going to fix you, but I need you to let go of your hands, ok?” A hint of terror flashed in his eyes, and Claire smiled. “I got you. I know it’s scary and sudden and you think you shouldn’t be here. But I got you. Just let go and let _me_ take over for you.”

For a moment, they stared at each other, measuring and reflecting. Finally, his hands loosened up and Claire’s confident smile froze when the cardiac monitor began to beep out of control. His arms fell flatly to his sides as his eyes closed, losing consciousness while blood pumped out of his torso.

“Damn it!! He was clamping his own aorta, get us to the OR, stat!”

There was too much blood to see. The artery was completely severed and the extremes were lost in the mess of clotted blood and fluids that came out of the wound. Packing as much gauze as she could, Claire pressed with her whole body on top of the gash and jumped on the gurney while they fled.

“Come one, Alex, don’t do this. Hang on, you bastard. This isn’t it,“ she whispered under her breath, her arms aching with the strength she was using to keep the hemorrhage at bay.

 

* * *

 

“Claire?”

Joe’s concern drove her out of the never-ending loop she was playing in her head. Suction, clamp, blood transfusion, page Dr. Gowan, head of cardio-thoracics, get him ready for bypass. Control the hemorrhage, another bag of blood, this time in the rapid infuser, _where the hell is Gowan_ , _he’s currently in another surgery and can’t make it_ , _he’s coding_ , bring him back, push epi and atropine, start bypass, ask for a Dacron graft tray, widen the incision, suction, suture, insert the graft, get him out of bypass, bring him back again twice more, the graft won’t hold, the aorta bursts again, trying to get him back on bypass, not enough blood left to pump, time of death 6:13 pm.

His words, piercing through that professional shield she had accustomed herself to, in order to keep the pain away, at an arm’s distance.

_You have killed him. You’re responsible for his death and I will hold you accountable for this._

“Claire.”

Unfocused, her gaze tried to fix on the origin of that voice, and a friendly face and a reassuring smile became more defined.

“Joe, I—”

“I know. Please, an aortic dissection? He was dead the minute he entered Helwater, Claire. You’re seasoned enough to know that.” She nodded and sighed. The OR was empty and Joe was staring at her from the threshold. Slowly, she stepped out of the blood, the floor sticky and not willing to let her go entirely, as she stepped out of the room and leaned against the wall near the door.

“I thought we could make it.”

“You know that if the aorta bursts you have barely minutes to fix it. It’s virtually impossible to succeed if the rupture happens outside an OR. I don’t want you to beat yourself about this.”

“I have to inform—“

“Don’t worry. Dr. Gowan has already filled the papers. Claire,“ Joe warned her again when he saw her gaze staring back into the surgery in her mind. She snapped out of it and smiled without too much intention. “Go get a shower. I’ll see you at the party.”

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, the party. Do you think, after all that happened—”

“These people have busted their asses today. Of fifteen patients, there has been only two fatalities. Considering the magnitude of the accident and the wounds the victims sustained, I’m telling you: we all need to unwind.”

 

* * *

 

 

There was nobody in the locker room. Everybody had left already, probably going home after the terrible events of the day. Drained, Claire stood under the hot spray of the shower, allowing the water to take it all away: blood, sweat and guilt. Those words still echoed in the back of her mind. A clear order she had failed to fulfill. But Joe was right. There was nothing left for her to do, and she had tried her best to keep Alex alive. His state was beyond help, and slowly she allowed that idea to sink in, expelling the thoughts of incompetence, frustration and self-doubt along the way.

A quick look at her cellphone told her the party would be already over. Near the clock digital display, a small envelope blinked. She had tested her address to Jamie before all hell broke loose, and there it was. A thumbs up emoji as an answer.

 _Jesus, we_ are _fifteen indeed._

Geillis told her she would invite the few selected people over around six o’clock. It was over nine when she jumped in her car, thinking about her comfy bed and the soft quilts she would tuck herself with. Maybe even a hot cup of tea with those shortbreads she had bought a couple of days before in a nearby bakery. As the plan settled in her mind and her muscles began to relax with the idea, Claire’s car entered her street and pulled up a couple of blocks away. She didn’t need to come closer. When she got out, the reverberation of the music pounded in her ears. The whole street was packed with cars and people roaming outside her small cottage style house.

“Geillis, you’re dead. You’re _so_ dead.“

What was going to be a small _soirée_ for a few close friends, had finally burst into a full sized frat party. But instead of twentysomethings getting drunk and making out, it was full of grown up adults with responsibilities, mortgages and careers. Apparently age was just a number, she thought when she saw one of her fellow surgeons doing a keg stand in the garden.

Music was so loud Claire could feel her eardrums beating. Her eyes searched frantically for Geillis, until she finally saw her blonde head, dancing on top of her coffee table with a bottle of tequila on her hand. Once more, she leaned against the wall and sighed. There was anything but peace in that house. No warm quilts, no soothing tea, no quiet silence before falling asleep. The mayhem they had experienced in the surgical floor of Helwater had turned into a much needed release. She could tell, by the energy in the air, that those people (most of them she didn’t even know) needed it. They needed to dance away the exhaustion, the tears, the worries, the weight of a human life on their hands. So she saw herself presented with two options: she could try to evict them all (and miserably fail), or she could join them.

Throwing her coat and backpack to the floor, Claire dogged the dancers the same way she had dogged gurneys and wheelchairs on her way to Geillis.

“ _Clairrrre_!!!!!”

In the midst of a inebriated hug, Claire stole her bottle of tequila and took a long sip.

“Ye made it! We thought ye wouldna.” Geillis’ accent was thicker when she drank, and by the way she was talking, Claire could tell this wasn’t her first bottle. Willie’s startled (and happy) voice distracted her.

“Claire!! Ye made it! We thought—”

“I _wouldna_ make it, yeah. Apparently that didn’t keep you from turning my house into a rave, Willie.” He had the good sense to at least look apologetic, but Claire offered him the tequila and shrugged. “I told you. I’m not cleaning.”

 

* * *

 

The air was stingingly cold. Her cheeks were flushed, both the temperature and the tequila responsible for the apple color in them. Inside, the atmosphere was suffocating. After a few hours dancing and drinking, the smells in her living room were a bit overpowering, in neat contrast with the wintry wind that shook her disarrayed curls in the porch. Her body still swayed with the rhythm of the music, her mind lost in a peaceful bliss where the past was long foregone and the future too far away to be worried about just yet.

“I hope ye got more than one keg, Sassenach. Otherwise I’ll have to drink your salad condiments.”

That airy velvet, rolled around the ‘r’ and low enough to make her bones vibrate with it, reached her inner self, that tiny bit of consciousness she still kept at all times. There he was. Stunningly handsome. Instead of the military uniform he was forced to wear while in the Helwater premises, Jamie was wearing a pair of soft, comfortable dark jeans, a black sweater and a white t-shirt underneath. Leaning against his car, he was staring at her with a smirk that made her belly tingle and awoke a need that had been sleeping during the chaos of the day.

A wide smile got plastered in her face, and he reciprocated tilting his head.

“Och, Sassenach, ye drunk? Booze isna a good fellow to rely on, ye ken? All it’ll give ye is a headache and punch in the gut.”

Claire tried to keep herself upright while descending the stairs, until she reached him and stuck her body against his, placing her hands on top of his shoulders.

“Is that what you’ve come to do? Scold me like a teen girl who sacked his daddy’s wet bar?”


End file.
